The Two of Us
by J.Rease
Summary: What if they were all that was left? Just the two of them; together. Prompt fill for a friend. Zombie fic. One shot.


Title: The Two of Us  
Rating: M  
Author: J Rease  
Pairing: Pezberry  
Warning: Zombie fic. Romance. Small bits of violence.  
Summary: What if they were all that was left? Just the two of them; together. Prompt fill for a friend. Zombie fic. One shot.

A/N: I am updating these last few updates to so that my readers will know to head over to my hosting site for all future updates. The web address can be found on my profile.

Please review.

His mother was going to kill him. He had missed curfew by fifteen minutes by the time he climbed out of the tree he'd been perched in. He slung his binoculars over his shoulder and steadied his camera on his other by the thick Kodak band. He could hear his mother scolding him now, "Jacob Ira Ben Israel I don't care if you don't have school tomorrow you are to be in this house at eleven...not eleven oh one or eleven thirty one,"-and blah blah blah blah ... bleh. He doesn't really feel like hearing her nagging voice, especially since he hadn't gotten any good footage from his perch on the tall tree. It was officially the first full day of summer vacation.

Not that he had anything to do. His boredom led him to the fitness center by the woods; the tree he'd been sitting in gave him a great view of the women's locker room. It'd been fun until they'd shut off all the lights to close up. He grabbed his bag, and took a moment to stretch before heading home.

_**Snap**_.

His head turned to the left, and his hand poked his glasses up his nose before he moved out in the darkness. He wasn't too far off from the main road, but it was dark enough to leave him _nervous_. The noises around him were suddenly too loud, and he hoped it was one of the people who'd just left the gym. Another twig broke, this time closer to where he was.

"W-who's out there?"

There was a grumbling garble of incapacitated phrases, discombobulated words were grunted out huskily. A heavy foot disrupted the soil somewhere to his left. He grabbed for his camera, flicking the flash button and hearing the lever snap up his flash bulb. He gulped. Whoever was coming at him was moving slowly; growing closer. He pressed his shutter button and watched the flash illuminate the space in front of him—catching barely on the moving figure in the darkness.

"This isn't funny. It's too dark out here for practical jokes!"

He took a step toward his right, his hand outstretched to protect himself from any obstacles. He pressed the shutter button repeatedly, looking for the dodgy figure in the bursts of light. The figure appeared from somewhere his light hadn't caught—lurking in the edges of his peripheral vision. His brain froze, and he couldn't make the connection with is body to **move**.

He heard the impact before he actually felt anything. Whoever the person was had tripped into something, and fell forward into him. Hungry hands began grabbing on to him. He screamed, finally able to push the abnormally cold flesh away as the person grabbed at his arm. He fell soon after, trapped under the weight of a growling human being, their teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his neck, blood spilling warmly downward.

He begin kicking out, thrashing wildly under the psychopath biting him in the dark. He managed to kick away, leaving his things behind and running in the direction he hoped would lead him home—where he should have been almost twenty five minutes ago. He was losing a lot of blood, and he didn't dare look behind him all the way to the main road, which was luckily not too far from his house. He ran without stopping, avoiding the dizziness that threatened to make him faint. He banged on his door loudly before giving in, and he fell exhausted on the welcome mat. His mother was screaming at him just as he blacked out. Her annoyance changed to shock as she took in the sight of all his blood.

000 0000 000

When he woke up, all he could focus on was the fluorescent lights zooming by above him. He wasn't wearing his glasses and he couldn't turn his head. Heads ducked in and out of view; people in pastel scrubs were moving above him, hands touching and moving over him, examining body parts he couldn't feel. Focusing harder, he tuned into the noise. The haze of his mind cleared and shouting pounded against his ear drums. He heard his mother's voice beside him, she was pleading with someone as the blinding lights above him continued to move. He heard impact and he saw the swinging double doors flap as he was rolled through a doorway. His mother's voice faded as they rolled him down a different colored hallway, and into a room with beeping machines.

He was going to die here.

The doctor was trying to stop his blood loss. There were nurses rushing around him with tubes and needles. All he felt was a numb tingling feeling. He watched them as they worked, trying to make out what exactly was going on. He saw the nurse hold up defibrillator paddles, and he felt the surge pass through his body twice.

"Immune system shutdown. Hold the paddles."

There was quiet in the room, a machine held a constant loud one toned note. They waited, all listening to his heart rate monitor.

"Time of death..."

He felt fine, really. Given, he felt numb and a bit light headed. But he was still on the table, he was still conscious. He didn't feel dead. He forced noise from his throat, his chest rose, and a gargling wet sounded around unintelligible words. Blood, there was blood in his throat, probably from where that guy bit him. The nurses were pulling out the tubes and ripping off tape. The brace that held his head in place was pulled off.

"Someone find his mother."

Almost everyone left the room. Someone else in scrubs came in to clean up the mess. She picked up bloodied gloves and tubes; putting them in hazardous material bins before coming over to him. His body was still numb. But there was something different now. He felt... hungry. His body parts came back to him one by one, his vision blurred considerably worse than his usual poor eyesight. He could smell the woman still cleaning the room. Her flesh...meat...brain. He had one last coherent thought before nothingness:

He needed to eat.

000 0000 000

One week later...

She was from Lima Heights Adjacent. Okay, not literally from there, but that's where her grandmother lived and her Abuela practically raised her. So it counted. She can attribute her sick survival skills to that. One week ago today, Lima had an outbreak. And in seven days, she learned quickly how to stay alive. She started first with protection. If she learned anything from Sue Sylvester, it was the proper way to stay alive during a crisis. Her father had an arsenal. Okay. That's an exaggeration. He had a couple of pistols, a revolver and a shotgun. From his locked gun cabinet she took the pistols, six slide in magazines and a machete. The machete was a gift her dad received when he went on his Doctors Without Borders tour in the Congo a few years back. She didn't have experience with guns, but she could easily cut a bitch.

Not that she's actually killed a zombie yet.

She spent the week watching the news, a gun in arm's reach at the bottom of her bed, her bureau and vanity pushed against the door. On the sixth night she spent alone, she watched the dead collect outside her window, moaning wildly until the sun came up. They disappeared at sunrise, finding solace in the shadows as she readied herself to leave her sanctuary. She tucked her weapons in her Cheerios duffel along with a few changes of clothing, cans of food and bread, water and her cell phone (not that it was actually working or anything). She learned a lot in the seven days she barricaded herself in her bedroom. The most important thing of all was that she wasn't safe there anymore, and she had to seek out a better place to hide.

The day time was safe. The broadcasts were flowing in with details of the walking dead, letting anyone alive know about their weakness to the sun. A big shot scientist from the CDC had an entire segment dedicated to it. He explained that the dead have no active immune system; thus they had no immunities. It ultimately led to the conclusion that zombies can't withstand daylight. That morning, she'd seen the repercussions of zombie sun bathing first hand. One of the fuckers had gotten stuck on the trellis outside her window. She almost wasted a bullet on the dead head, but the summer sun peeked through the clouds and he set ablaze almost immediately, falling from the side of her house and crumbling into ash on her front lawn.

If she wanted to find somewhere safe, she only had these few hours of daylight.

Santana threw her duffel bag out of her window, choosing not to try the dark first floor of her house. She climbed down the trellis with ease, taking care not to touch the shadows made by the side of her house. She got in her car and headed straight for the gas station. Self-serve saved her life, because she could see zombies waiting inside the station mini mart; smart enough to know that stepping near her would end their hunt for hunger. After filling up, she drove to McKinely, hoping that none of the zombies were hoarded inside.

Everywhere else she'd thought of was dangerous. Any place with broken windows had potential threats hiding in the dark. McKinely was closed for the summer, and when she pulled her car into the parking lot by the football field, she couldn't see any broken windows or doors. She talked herself out of searching for survivors on the third day of the outbreak. The only person she wanted to make sure was okay, had hopefully made it safely on the road for summer vacation. She pulled the machete from her duffel, and went to the big double doors of the back entrance.

Lima was small enough for people to be trusting. The school doors were left unlocked. She made sure to lock them behind her after she entered. Santana walked slowly down the hallway, checking to make sure the doors were all closed. There was no noise and no sign of disturbance as she made her way to the auditorium. It just...made sense in her head. The auditorium had side doors, stage doors and the entrance. All doors were sound proofed and heavy duty, and each one of them locked from the inside. There were small, ceiling high windows lining the far back wall. The trap doors in the stage lead to the basement, where she hoped she would find what was left of last year's food supply.

When she opened the door, she hadn't expected to see anyone on stage.

000 000 000

Santana came into the auditorium quietly. Rachel Freakin' Berry was on stage, her hands gripping the edge, her bloody clothing ruined; dirty. Rachel hadn't looked up as she entered, and Santana was suddenly nervous that she would have to kill the tiny brunette to claim the territory. Santana hadn't _actually_ killed any of the dead heads. When she left the house, she'd been alert and prepared to finally pop that cherry, but luckily her murder count was still intact. As she slithered down the aisle, her machete shook slightly in hand. Rachel was slouching on the stage, her usually pristine posture degraded down to a lazy slump. Her chest rose and fell, and Santana wondered briefly if zombies would actually breathe.

When she decided that they definitely wouldn't breathe, she took a breath herself.

She approached Rachel slowly, quietly as not to disturb her. She put her bag down on the floor and observed the other girl quietly. Rachel looked exhausted. Like she hadn't gotten any sleep and she just succumbed finally where she sat. Santana took a moment to consider an alternative. She watched the sleeping Rachel Berry breathe steadily, she couldn't see any wounds on the skin Rachel did have showing. Santana brushed aside the thought of Rachel transitioning, especially since she hadn't seen it happen yet; didn't know how long it took.

Santana took a chance and shook Rachel's shoulder.

The tiny girl immediately woke, grabbing the baseball bat Santana hadn't seen sitting behind her. Santana immediately flinched backward, holding her arms up in surrender before Rachel got it in her to actually swing.

"Woah Berry! Calm down, just wanted to make sure you weren't one of them. I'm good if you're good, comprende?"

Santana watched fear slowly fade from Rachel's face, before the smaller girl flung herself around Santana's neck, disregarding completely the razor sharp machete she still held. Berry looked like she had a complete mental breakdown. She was sobbing on Santana's shoulder, squeezing her arms around Santana's neck. It would have been funny had they not been in such a serious situation. Santana walked toward the stage and put down her machete, and she patted softly at Rachel's back until she stilled, sniffles escaping every so often until there was nothing but silence between them. Santana had only observed the behavior of the dead heads from her window. For seven days she stayed inside with a stock pile of food and she learned everything she could before going out. Rachel on the other hand looked like she went through hell to get there

Santana wanted to ask questions, but Rachel was still leaning into her; her small, even breaths the only sound that echoed through the auditorium. Santana took the time to survey Rachel's metal baseball bat. There were several chinks on the surface, dry and flaking bits of blood on the thicker part of the bat. From the look, and smell, of the munchkin, all the blood on her had been from the splatter of the baseball bat hitting zombies.

If you asked Santana a week ago who would top her list of zombie apocalypse survivors, Rachel Berry would not have made the cut. But seeing the small girl here in front of her, dirty clothing and hair matted with blood, Santana would agree that Rachel Berry was one badass zombie slayer. Given, the girl seemed dramatically traumatized, but she'd made it here and she was still alive. Santana pulled away from her finally, after Rachel's arms had gone limp around her.

"I've never heard you stay quiet for that long... it's totally terrifying."

Rachel's laugh was a quiet, broken thing. It tumbled out of her mouth in defeat, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

"I gave up finding people still alive two days ago. I... I thought I was the last person left in Lima."

Rachel leaned backwards on her palms, and slid onto the stage. Santana followed suit, moving both of their weapons behind them. She and Rachel were friends now. Well, sort of. They weren't the sleepover and hang out kind of friends; but from where they were...they'd come a long way. And being so alone the last few days, she didn't mind at all that she had someone to keep her company... even if it was Rachel Freakin' Berry.

"So, Berry, how did you wind up here?"

Rachel looked at her briefly, before looking forward. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"I did a lot of things I didn't know I was capable of. I don't even remember getting here. I just ran. I guess I should start at the beginning."

Santana stayed quiet, waiting patiently for Rachel to get to the point. She honestly wanted the concise version of Rachel's great journey through zombie land, but Rachel's tone of voice stayed serious. She seemed like she needed to talk to someone; to be heard (which sounded more like the Rachel Berry she knew before). So Santana bit the inside of her cheek to quiet her impatience and she listened.

"I stayed over Kurt's house. I woke up in the guest room—and I know it was really late because I have a very strict sleeping schedule and it always throws me off when it's interrupted unexpectedly—"

Santana sighed heavily.

"Anyway… it was late; but early. There was so much noise outside. People were screaming and it sounded like a few cars had crashed into each other. When I went to Kurt's room, he wasn't there, and he didn't answer when I called out. I went looking for him, and when I got downstairs, the front door was open. I almost... I almost went outside, but then I saw one of them. I thought I was dreaming at first. _Zombies aren't real_."

Rachel stopped talking, as if to convince herself that this was really happening. That zombies _were_ real. Santana realized that she'd started biting her cheek for another reason- she wasn't sure if she wanted to know anymore. She'd been safe at her house. She'd seen the broadcasts and she watched it unfold from her window. Rachel had fought to get there...she may have even killed.

"The ..._zombie_ was running by and she saw me and, she had no arms. She had no arms but she wasn't bleeding. I ran. I ran all the way to Finn's room and I hid in his closet. I found his baseball bat and I sat in that closet and I waited. She stayed outside his door. She kept throwing her body into it. I heard the banging all night. The growling. I didn't know if I could defend myself against her if she made it inside that room. I don't know how long I was in there. But I saw the sun under the door twice. At night I just listened to what was outside. I couldn't sleep. Between listening to people screaming and listening to her hitting the door... I almost... I almost went a little crazy. On the third night, she finally got in."

Rachel was lost in her story. She was so distant from where they were now, back in that unsafe place, that closet. Santana only waited, her knuckles were white where they gripped at the edge of the stage, void of color and straining from impatience. Rachel Berry was still some sort of herself… she was being as dramatic as she could by recollecting her struggles. Santana would be annoyed—but she found herself captivated as Rachel continued, her voice getting quieter as she explained.

"I wouldn't just wait for her to find me. She knew I was in the room somewhere, and she refused to leave. I heard her sit down. She sat down on Finn's bed and sniffed the air deeply. Like she could smell me. Like she knew I was still in that room. I picked up the bat and I...I knew I only had one shot. When she got up, I opened the doors and I just hit her. I just closed my eyes and let the bat go. I had to hit her until she stopped moving. And I had to pretend that I wasn't killing another person. "

Santana looked away from Rachel now, a bit unsettled at her first kill. Rachel cleared her throat after a moment's silence, and eerily swung her legs as the dangled over the edge of the stage.

"I was high on adrenaline and I felt like if I was going to go out—I wouldn't go out with a fight. So I ran to my car and I realized that no one was chasing after me. Everyone who'd been outside the night before was just… gone. There were abandoned cars and street signs in the streets. Windows were broken and front doors left open. It smelled weird. Like burning. That's when another one of them came out a house toward me. But as soon as he stepped outside, he set on fire. I ran to my car and I drove to Noah's house. He and Finn were together… and I had to make sure…"

Santana was quiet. The only sound in the room was the noise coming from Rachel's Mary Jane's. She was still wearing her stained knee high socks—yellow socks that had red and brown blood patches. The black leather pulled apart as Rachel's legs shifted in opposite directions, and clapped in an unnerving smack as Rachel brought them back together. Santana shifted uncomfortably and pulled her knee under her chin, a little more interested in Rachel's story than she really wanted to be at the moment.

"There was blood everywhere. The front door was open and there were chairs thrown into the front windows from the inside. I could see a zombie… it looked like Noah's little sister. She wouldn't come into the sun. She acted like she knew better. She just stared in my direction as I drove by. I didn't know what to do. I parked on a side road where there weren't any abandoned cars. And I dozed off sometime during the night. When I woke up, there were five or six zombies walking around my car. And they started banging on my windows and I just pulled off. I had been doing that for the last few days. I parked my car a few blocks away from here. And I've been nodding off in the day time. At night I kept watch. I didn't go into any of the stores because they… the zombies just lurk in the shadows…"

"Yea, it's weird… I saw that on my way over here. When did you get to McKinely?" The sound of her own voice shocked her. Santana hadn't known she'd spoken aloud until Rachel had followed up with an answer.

"This morning. Well, right before the sun came out. I guess they figured out when they won't get sunburned. I dozed off for a minute. When I got up...they were swarming my car. It was rocking back and forth and I just—I started the car and I pulled off. I ran over as many of them as I could until my car stopped working. I got out and I grabbed my baseball bat and I started running… I just wound up here… I only had to swing a few times before I got to the football field—and when I got to the doors… it was day time. I just wandered here. And sat down."

"Have you checked around for anybody else? Made sure there weren't any zombies?"

Rachel shrugged.

"If they're here, they haven't been to the auditorium. I don't think zombies use doorknobs."

Santana looked around the room. The sun was still out, and they had time. They needed to secure the perimeter. She needed to make this place safe. Being in the school amplified Sue Sylvester's emergency crises aversion tactics—her cheerleading coach's voice boomed in the back of her skull. Rachel's shoes were still making weird slap, stick noises, and she needed to do something other than listen to Berry's extremely long winded gory reenactments. Santana jumped off the stage. She picked up her machete, and passed Rachel's baseball bat to her.

"Well… now that there are two of us, we have better chances of staying alive. You desperately need to bathe, I need to check around and see what I can do about security up in this place—_before_ it gets dark. So let's go Berry, I need you to cover me in case Mr. Schue decided to hibernate for the summer while he waited for his next set of replacement glee kids to arrive."

Rachel huffed quietly, but followed nonetheless.

000 0000 000

They started by locking all the doors. It made sense, to Santana, that if someone were coming inside their hideout, they could easily be followed by dozens of hungry dead heads. They scaled the halls one by one, making note of open doors or odd noises. They got through them without coming in contact with anyone else; _anything_ else. The halls were empty and the doors were all locked. Even still, there were groaning noises, hopefully coming from the pipes that would chant over the halls like Figgins' loudspeaker used to. They left the basement for another day—it was too nerve wracking to pursue so close to sunset. Rachel had taken a new set of gym clothes from the school store, and Santana had managed to find Sue's white sneaker stash behind one of the trophy cases (Rachel's Mary Janes made sticky noises as they walked, so she managed to find the tiniest pair for the dwarf). They took cots and blankets from the nurses office, and dragged them back to the auditorium before heading to the girls' locker rooms.

"I'll keep watch. I already showered today. I don't trust this place being completely empty. So I'll keep an eye out and starting tomorrow we will use the boys communal showers… so we won't waste time waiting for each other to shower."

Rachel just nodded, closing the shower door and turning on the water. Santana sat across from her stall on the floor—her machete at the ready. She expected the little diva to sing, but it remained quiet as Santana watched the grime swirl around the floor drain. Santana guessed Rachel didn't have much to sing about. But really, neither did she. Santana had spent the week alone. Rachel had been outside with all the undead, fighting for her life, thinking she was one of the only people left alive. Santana hadn't thought of companionship. All she could think about was keeping alive. But now that they were together, she felt a little bit safer.

The water turned off in the shower and Santana watched Rachel's feet as she put on clothing. A few moments later she emerged from her stall, the McKinely High gym uniform fit her loosely, the shorts stopped mid-thigh. It was warm enough for it… and at least Rachel didn't smell like congealed blood and death breath. Santana stood and they made their way back to the auditorium, hoping to sleep through the night. They sat in relative silence as the sun finally went down, and Rachel settled into the cot beside Santana's and they both listened to the noises outside. The auditorium did a great job at blocking out most of the wailing walking dead, but the hungry growls and bouts of gibberish chased down the hallways like nightmares. Sleeping soundly would probably be a problem.

"Santana… I'm really glad you're here."

She looked over at Rachel briefly and shrugged.

"Yea, Berry, me too…"

She had actually meant it, too.

000 0000 000

The next few days dragged on mundanely. They spent the days together, wandering around various parts of the school; wielding weapons, looking for things to do. They should have been sleeping during the day… but they needed to be able to do things without the threat of running into any zombies. Not that they went outside often. Santana missed the sun, but Rachel made a wonderfully annoying point that they didn't have keys for the doors, and anyone still alive could basically walk in and not allow them reentry. They'd mostly been talking about keeping out the walkers, securing the school… supplies. The nights got harder as the days went by, more zombies were collecting around the school. There were more noises at night—the sounds of banging doors and bodies crashing against windows. The starving dead were mindless corpses moaning at their growling stomachs.

They didn't talk about much other than planning at first. The idea of letting Rachel Berry talk as much as she pleased was almost as disturbing as the thought of zombie apocalypse (_heh_). They took food from the kitchen walk in freezer, and usually ate in silence in the abandoned teacher's lounge not too far from the auditorium. She never left Rachel's side, and Rachel never left hers. They woke together, slept, showered and ate together every day, because it was safer. Santana would never admit that it was comforting too, to have someone. The first non-mandatory conversation they had happened the fourth night they'd spent at McKinely. Santana had given Rachel one of the pistols from her duffel. She'd shown the dwarf how to load it and how to set and remove the safety. She watched Rachel put it underneath her pillow, and she settled into her own bed as the noises outside started with the setting of the sun.

Sometimes over the last few days, they fell asleep with their faces close together on the edges of their cots, breathing each other's air. That night Rachel had laughed out loud when she felt her cheek against the bulge the gun made under her pillow.

"I like this… having a gun."

"Why? You're got here with your bat."

Rachel shrugged. There was a chanting noise coming from outside, crowding dead rushing to the windows, hungry for a meal.

"A bat feels personal. You have to get really close and you have to feel what you're doing. You make a harder decision with a baseball bat."

"Either way… you have to put the dead heads down or well… you're one of them. What's the difference?"

Rachel looked over her head, where her now clean baseball bat leaned in an upright position near the stage.

"With a gun, you can pull a trigger from a distance. You don't feel the impact of what you're doing. It's impersonal. Zombies are just things, and the bullet will put it down without you feeling what you're actually accomplishing. With a bat… you know what a skull cracking feels like. You feel the vibrations in your wrists whenever you hit too hard. You know to inhale when you draw back, and exhale when you feel the flesh move under your swing. You have to face the fact that you are killing. And they always have to get really close. I'm… vegan. It was hard for me to know that animals died. Killing another person—already dead or not—was hard. Doing it with a bat made it unbearable. A gun is easier. If you ever have to use that machete… you'll understand."

Rachel Berry had a few reasons to be so precautious. Santana had played it safe since the outbreak happened. Berry had gotten her hands dirty. Whenever she managed to doze off, she'd wake a short time after alert and ready for any attack. Santana hadn't had to kill a zombie yet.

"Well… you have to learn how to shoot then. But we can't waste bullets. Maybe we can make a slingshot and practice or something. You're a little too gun happy, Berry."

Rachel laughed. Santana realized that she enjoyed hearing the sound. Especially at night time. Rachel sobered quickly and looked across her bed.

"Do you know how to shoot?"

Santana nodded. She yawned. The zombies outside were still choking out broken phrases.

"My grandmother taught me. I'm okay, but I'm not a sure shot."

Rachel mmmhmm'd, yawning finally herself.

"Why didn't you go looking for anyone… when the outbreak happened? You didn't wonder where your parents were? Brittany? …Quinn?"

They hadn't broached these kinds of questions so far. Rachel Berry still had parts of herself underneath all that crazy. The abrasive, invasive and all-consuming parts of her. Santana had already gotten used to her random bouts of verbose inquiries and nagging remarks. Even that… was comforting. Everything the last few days had been about preparation and precautions. They'd been keeping their distance from each other, even though they were constantly together.

Santana sighed.

"My parents were in Miami. With my abuela. And Britt should be far away from here now, on the road. Quinn… if anybody can get through this she can. I'm surprised she hasn't managed to find me yet. Hopefully the U.S. is shutting it down and keeping other places uninfected. What about you? Why did you go seek out the pilsbury dough giant- instead of your parents?"

Rachel looked at the embedded ceiling lights and put her finger up to one. They looked like stars when Santana had figured out how to dim and brighten them.

"My dads were in New York. They were looking into apartments for me for school this fall. I hope they're safe. I hope they think I'm dead."

Santana looked over at her, watching as Rachel closed an eye and focused on another ceiling light.

"Why do you want them to think that?'

Rachel pinched her fingers together and let her arm fall.

"I don't want them to come back… I don't want them to think they can find me. If they think I'm dead, they won't come looking and become one of them."

"Hmm." Was all Santana could say. A zombie growl permeated through the auditorium proofing for good measure.

The last thought she remembered before sleep was that Rachel Berry had a very good point.

000 0000 000

Conversations passed time. That was the only logical reason Santana found herself speaking to Berry on purpose. This time, they were eating. There was sun shining into the teacher lounge windows, and they were eating random odds and ends they'd found in the kitchen. The morning would have went on in silence had it not been for Berry's sudden outburst of:

"Do you think they feel pain?"

Santana's spoon full of cereal stopped halfway on the course to her mouth.

"What the zombies? No—why would they?"

"I mean… they know not to run into the sun. They know because it hurts, right? Because they'll burn."

Santana shrugged, resuming motion and chewing around a mouthful of cereal.

"Maybe it's just an ending. That zombie outside my window didn't scream after it got set on fire. It just died. Did any zombies beg you to stop hitting them with your big metal baseball bat? They only make noise when they smell food. It's instinct. It's like a force, they don't think or feel or breathe."

Rachel let her back collapse against her chair before poking at her instant oatmeal.

"I think they think. They have to follow the instinct. They have to act on it. So even though they might not be alive… they still have a life force. They choose not to feel the pain maybe, because the hunger wins out."

Santana shrugged again, pushing her empty bowl of cereal away.

"If that were true… it would be trouble for us. If you're right, Berry, we need to do a lot more than lock the doors."

Rachel was nodding enthusiastically, happy to have something to plan for. Something to organize in a town tortured by chaos.

"The implications. Santana, they would get smarter. They would put aside instinct and work toward feeding the hunger."

"Yea… or they'll learn how to use umbrellas in the day time."

It was supposed to be a joke. But the way Rachel was looking at her… it meant something completely different.

That afternoon, they began blocking off the entrances and started setting traps.

000 0000 000

They hadn't needed to leave the school for anything. Santana's car was still in the parking lot and they'd had no living visitors for over two weeks. Santana knew they wouldn't be able to stay there long without stocking up on supplies. They had way too much time to think these days, and most of the scenarios she'd come up with in her head were the kinds that started with 'worse case'. Even still, she thought that she and Rachel could make it until they thought of something better to do—or even long enough to get word from the government. What had started the conversation for their first argument wasn't what she thought it would be.

"What do you mean you have your period?"

Santana rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms, somewhat elated that she could do that now since making a machete strap out of the belt she packed in her duffel bag.

"Don't you menstruate, Berry, geez. I'm on my period. We need to go out and restock."

Rachel shook her head.

"I'm not going back out there. There have got to be supplies in the nurse's office. Maybe a supply room or even—"

"Yea probably all in the basement—you know that cave you refuse to go down into because you're afraid you'll run into the janitor."

Rachel balled her hands into tiny fists. _Pfft_—some job they'd do if Rachel actually tried to sucker punch her.

"Look—those noises are coming from somewhere down there and I'd rather not go find out what they are. And I'm definitely not going outside. Not into some dark store crowded with zombies for _tampons. _Make what we have here work!"

"Okay look, you little Lilliputian citizen. Sooner or later we are going to run out of food. Sooner or later something might just happen and we need to get out of here or go somewhere else. This is temporary. And I don't care what happened when you were by yourself, but this won't work forever. So get it through your stubborn little brain that we have to prepare for the worst."

Rachel took a step back. She turned on her heel and crossed her arms over her chest. She counted to ten before turning back to Santana.

"You are so lucky I need some almond milk. We do this… we do it my way. You watch my back and I'll watch yours."

Rachel stomped by her, grabbing her baseball bat and her pistol before heading to the auditorium double doors. The Rachel Berry tantrum didn't have the same impact when she had to walk slow enough for Santana to walk five paces behind her.

000 0000 000

They left two doors of the school unlocked. If someone got in before they got back, they would go through the other side. Santana drove through the quiet streets, avoiding debris in the road and wrecked and abandoned vehicles. Rachel was looking out the window, one of her white sneakered feet propped on Santana's dash. Rachel had made her go through the shopping district twice. They picked the most undisturbed store on the block. None of the windows were broken, and the front door was still closed. They pulled the car up on the curb and got out.

"Feels like we have an audience. Maybe you should sing them a song, Berry."

Rachel chuckled at that, her eyes shifty as she searched around; making sure no one was in range to actually attack.

"I do need practice…"

Santana rolled her eyes, following behind Rachel with trepidation, making sure the zombies watching from the shadows stayed where they were.

"You practice too much already. Pretend I never said it."

Rachel opened the door slowly, letting light spill into the small general store. The lights were out. There weren't any sounds of moving bodies. Rachel grabbed a cart near the front register, and they made their way through the aisles slowly, gathering supplies as meticulously as they could while on edge. Three aisles later, they heard it. Rachel's shoulders snapped as she gripped her bat, which had been lying on top of a box of vegan friendly frozen pizza.

Santana heard the noise again, this time, closer to where she was standing. She swiveled on her feet and saw Ms. Pilsbury rushing toward her, the bottom of her jaw ripped off. She heard Rachel shout right after Santana pulled her gun trigger, the kickback knocking her in the opposite direction. Her former guidance counselor stumbled, but continued toward them, a bit slower. She felt Rachel next to her, her baseball bat at the ready. Santana shook the ringing from her ears by the time Rachel aimed the bat at Miss Pilsbury's head. The sickening crack was the first thing she heard as the ringing settled, and Rachel stood over the not moving zombie in the middle of aisle four. Santana watched Rachel straighten her shoulders and turn around, pushing the cart down the aisle like the entire ordeal hadn't happened.

"Keep your eyes open."

Santana bit her tongue to keep her snark from snapping back. But Rachel had just saved her life. So she followed quietly.

They walked down the lanes, grabbing flashlights and first aid supplies. Santana grabbed a few belts for Rachel, hoping to make her holsters for her weapons. The rest of the trip had been uneventful. They loaded the car with all the supplies, and made their way back toward the school.

000 0000 000

The zombies that came to the school at night sometimes didn't always leave before sunrise. There were charred remains scattered on the football field as a result. If you followed the piles, you'd find one of the biggest swarms Santana had seen outside during the day. The undead not lucky enough to be inside before sunrise huddled underneath the bleachers on the football field. Santana wanted to set it on fire. It was an excuse to be outside at first, burning down the zombie base. But Rachel had run out behind her, worried that the fire would spread, or that the zombies who ran would run in different directions and one of them could get hurt.

They'd been standing under an awning near the bleachers, the shadow shrouding them in shade. They hadn't noticed the tall figure lurking not too far from where they were. Rachel saw him first, standing to the left of them, tall and luminous. The bulky boy was never coordinated, and even as a zombie he was unattractively pudgy; and slow on his feet. Rachel froze. Confirmation looked her in the face as Finn lunged. Rachel moved in time for Santana to pull out her pistol, aiming quickly before squeezing the trigger- still not anticipating the buck of the gun's kickback (which pushed her backwards enough to move her away of Finn's falling body). It was her first perfect shot.

Later that night, when they lay together on their cots in front of the stage in the auditorium, Rachel asked her if she felt any different.

Santana only nodded, and didn't have to say anything at all.

000 0000 000

"What if it's just us two left?"

Santana turned on her side to face Rachel, the crowd of dead heads ranting in their normal, gurgling language.

"Like in the world, Berry? Doubt it. Even though it spread fast… there has to be others in our situation. I mean, I'm sure Sue's probably living it up with Becky and her newborn miracle baby somewhere off in the mountains."

Rachel smiled morbidly.

"Sue would be alive… but I meant here. In Lima. What if we are really the last two people left? Do you wish anyone else was here with you?"

Santana thought for a few moments, random shouts and gnarly growls outside were loud, but not loud enough to penetrate her concentration.

"No… I still hope the people I love are safe. But it ain't so bad being here with you."

Rachel smiled, picking at her sheet.

"Do you ever wonder… what we are holding out for?"

Santana folded her arms behind her head. Blocking out the buzz of zombie voices chorusing through the auditorium walls.

"I try not to. But I think—I think I'll be okay holding out as long as you do."

Rachel smiled and looked up at the fake stars in the ceiling.

"I can live with that."

That night, their hands met across their cots.

000 0000 000

They didn't have reasons to go outside at all some days. Some days they stayed inside and read. They found things to do together. They played chess or checkers in the art room, or listened to old cds in the music room. Sometimes they just talked. Something had changed between them. Santana couldn't put her finger on it, but it was just easier to be around Rachel. She didn't even know when the midget's first name replaced the instinctual insults in her natural brain processes. There was something there that the zombie apocalypse hadn't caused. Maybe it was something that would have developed sooner had Santana gotten to know Rachel Berry before this.

"What was your dream?"

Rachel's question broke her thoughts.

"Like what? For the future? I don't know. I know I wanted out of here."

Santana laughed solemnly.

"… so much for that, huh Berry."

Santana nudged Rachel, shuffling the deck of cards that were on the table. Her laughter tapered off until she had to clear her throat the memory of it.

"I wanted a choice. This or that— my decision. No one else's terms or conditions. I just wanted to get out of Lima and find my own place in the world. And I wanted to be famous. By any means necessary."

Rachel looked at her, a smile twitching at the side of her mouth.

"I know what you mean…"

Somehow Santana knew it was her turn to ask a question. That was how it had been for a while… this back and forth.

"If you could be doing anything right now in the entire world… what would you be doing?"

Rachel's top teeth automatically dug into her bottom lip. Rachel's eyes were low, bright brown eyes searching deep somewhere inside Santana. She leaned in close to Santana, her chair teetering on the legs as she whispered quietly into Santana's ear.

"I'd be kissing you…"

Santana dropped her cards. And Rachel leaned back, letting the weight of her confession settle on Santana's shoulders. Santana didn't know when it happened. She suddenly realized what was different. She leaned in slowly and let her lips linger on top of her Rachel's. She puckered, pressing closer as Rachel's chair set flat on the floor. Santana followed, her hands pulling on the dull fabric of Rachel's McKinely High gym uniform tee. Rachel smiled broadly before their lips met again, her tongue darting out to test the skin of Santana's upper lip. She felt herself pulling Rachel into her lap, her arms enveloping her waist, her hand running through Rachel's hair as she kissed her ravenously.

That day, they didn't go outside at all. They spent that day kissing.

000 0000 000

Santana was confused. She honestly thought the make out session would lead to her getting her mack on. But Rachel had maintained the same strict, prudish torture she'd decided to inflict on Santana. Showering was getting hard. Each time they chose their stalls, Santana would play Russian roulette with her will power not to just go for it and join Rachel. Or at least look. But she behaved and she stayed on her own cot when they went to bed at night.

She dozed off to the songs of the undead, waking when a quiet noise disrupted her dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes, facing the rows of an imaginary audience; the empty auditorium catching again on the quiet whimper under the dimmed stars in the ceiling. Rachel had made that noise. Santana didn't have to turn her back to know that Rachel wasn't in the cot behind her. The noise came from the stage. She turned toward the stage slowly, ignoring the pesky murmur of zombie speak as she keyed into the sounds Rachel was making.

When Santana flipped onto her back she heard it louder, this time a gasp. She listened closely at the noises. She heard Rachel's moving hands. She closed her eyes and envisioned Rachel a few feet away, front-center stage touching herself. The sticky wet noise flicking on swollen skin in a steady, strong beat. Santana had to lick her lips. She let her hand slip soundlessly to the band of her shorts.

"Mmmmfffphh."

Rachel bit her lip as the moan slipped out. Santana was sure of it. She could hear the noise force itself out her mouth on accident… because something felt that good Rachel couldn't keep quiet. Santana felt her own hand rubbing circles around the most needy parts of her body, her hips bucking against her hand as she listened to Rachel speed up.

She was just as close as Rachel was, just from the mere thought that the tiny girl hadn't gone too far away… never far away from her.

They climaxed at the same time.

That was the night that Santana's resolve broke.

000 0000 000

Santana needed to have her. It could very well be the end of the world and nothing would ever be the same and Rachel was playing these games with her head and it made Santana need her even more. The zombies at night had grown to volumes so loud that it was getting hard to ignoring the booming noises reverberating through the halls. She could only compare them to the thumping of her heart whenever they lay down for the night next to Rachel.

She had finally reached her limit.

They were taking a shower. It was light outside, and misleadingly quiet. Santana swore she could hear the water pelting against Rachel's skin. All she had to do was turn around. She leaned against the shower, letting the water run down her back, trying to grow a thicker spine.

Santana took a breath and turned around.

Rachel was turned in her direction, her eyes closed under the warm spray of the showerhead. Santana devoured Rachel's body with her eyes, taking in stray moles and the soft curves of her hips. Santana bit her lip, letting her feet lead her over to Rachel's stall. Rachel felt her approach, opening her eyes but not stopping her from joining her under the cascading mist.

"What if something happened… and I never got to be with you?"

Santana hadn't known she'd spoke, but Rachel pulled her close in response. Naked, wet parts of their bodies smashed together quietly as they kissed. They kissed under the heat of the warm water, letting their hands brush across responsive places and grip at the luscious flesh that had never met before between them. They kissed until the water grew cold, and they gathered their things and managed to make it back to the auditorium together; tangled in limbs and clothing and weapons.

They collapsed sideways across their pushed together cots, rolling over until there was enough room for the both of them. Santana worshipped Rachel's body by centimeter, her tongue dipped into erogenous zones as her hands drifted over and goosebumped Rachel's skin. She listened to the wonderful noises Rachel made, and tried to save them for her ears to replay at night. She'd sleep better to a lullaby of Rachel's euphoric whimpers.

When Santana's tongue pressed boldly against her clit, Rachel bucked upward. She's eager for more as Santana continued, testing stroke and pressure her enthusiastic partner. Santana feasted on Rachel's sex for hours, and when the sun went down, Rachel flipped Santana over, and took her time blocking out the hordes of dead outside.

It was the first night she slept soundly.

000 0000 000

Santana knew they had to leave the morning they decided to search the basement. They had been here for a little over two months. Just the two of them. And every night the zombies grew in numbers. And every day the disappeared into the shadows. The noises coming through the pipes were angry now, screeching sounds of hunger flooded the school. Somewhere outside, there must have been an entrance into the basement. Maybe a storm drain that was left open… something had lead them to McKinely. There were more voices now. Growling, staving dead heads walking around right underneath them. Rachel chanced opening the trap door in the stage, noticing the tops of their heads as they walked aimlessly below them. It sounded like too many of them. She and Rachel had started packing the car. They took all the canned food they could find. They took blankets and pillows and water. First aid kids and flashlights, maps and their home made belt holsters and weapons.

They spent the day boarding up the side windows on Santana's coupe. And when night started they parked the car near the entrance. They made love that night, over the noises of the undead crowding into the cellar. And like every other night, they talked until fell asleep.

"So where do we go now?"

Rachel shrugged, her head pressed against Santana's chest, trying to block out the noise.

"Somewhere far from here."

Santana nodded, twirling strands of Rachel's hair in her fingers.

"What about New York City?"

Rachel smiled against her chest.

"I think that's a good start. As long as you're going, I am too."

They slept despite the noise their last night there.

In the morning, Rachel let Santana set the school on fire. They drove with raging flames in the rear view mirror, a big smile on Rachel's face.

It didn't feel like an ending. It felt more like a start.

End.


End file.
